She begun her day with charcoal
And ends her day with crockeries.
Not for fame but for home!
She burnt her flesh,
And loved her blood.
But she was not a matter of concern,
As she was a mother who conceived dreams.
Reshma L R✍️For more insights 🧐"mynewblogspotrk.blogspot.com" & Poetry collections : "Unstrung Notes", "Elysian Florets", "Wonder Meal", "Ormakal"
Pappa, I hate you for leaving without a word, Vanishing from our lives, your voice unheard. I hate you for departing with that gentle smile,...